Platinum	Platinum

 by Meghan

 Thanks to Val, as always. 

 

  

 He wears a platinum band on his left hand, ring finger. 

 It never mattered to either of them. 

 Actually, that's not completely true. When he stops to think about these
clandestine meetings, he thinks of that platinum band and everything it
stands for. Lex has never actually believed in the sanctity of marriage,
perhaps because of his two abortive attempts at the matter, but that band
has the way of making him rethink his decisions. 

 Rethink them until he's at another press conference that is. Picking one
face out of the sea of reporters and knowing that it'll happen again. That
Clark will give Lois some flimsy excuse after Lex announces he's not
taking any more questions to meet Lex outside. Clark will look up and down
the street in an exaggerated manner that never fails to make Lex laugh,
before ducking into the open door of the limo. 

 In between the time that the door closes and Clark reaches across to
touch him, Lex will close his eyes. He will keep them closed until slick
nails slide against his lips, the end of one poking into the split on his
upper lip. Clark always starts there first, the scar that Lex can no
longer remember how he got, like the way he can no longer remember how
this started. When, where, why. All that he can remember is how good Clark
feels over him in the back of the limo and the way white bursts behind his
closed eyes when their lips finally meet. 

 Later, they will be in Lex's bed. Clark on his face in the middle of the
impossibly wide mattress, ass in the air. The moans that will be muffled
by the thousand dollar pillows always manage to make the room spin a bit
for Lex as he struggles against himself. He wants so badly to turn away,
to say no. Not because of the platinum band that winks against the white
sheets but because when Lex leans over Clark's back to press his lips
against the long line of spine, he aches. 

 The ache intensifies as his tongue follows his lips, one long line that
leaves his mouth dry but leaves Clark's back damp with sweat. It doesn't
end there. Lex's fingers trail where his tongue was, chasing drying
saliva, until they fall over the puckered opening that makes Clark moan
even louder. He will watch his fingers be sucked into the hole, ears
blocking out the moans that start to sound more like a club beat than
sounds of enjoyment. 

 Somewhere in between finger fucking Clark and actually fucking him, Lex
will lay his cheek against Clark's lower back and watch the other man's
left hand. He refuses to closely examine this particular ritual, but it's
something that he can't make himself stop doing. Skin rubbing against his
cheek with every thrust Clark's body makes against his fingers, everything
moving of it's own volition until Lex's eyes go dry because he refuses to
blink them. 

 That's when he pulls his fingers out, lifts his face up and takes his
cock in hand. Lube is almost an afterthought that happens seconds before
he pushes the head of his dick past the first ring of tight muscle. Lex
always stops here, an inch in, and blinks the shine from the band out of
his mind before sliding the rest of the way in. He wants to only think of
this when he slides out quickly, and then thrusts back in. He can only
concentrate on this because the ache is starting to grow in his chest and
he needs to keep control. If he doesn't, this fuck will end up like that
time when he stared at the ring too long and he started to cry. 

 Clark didn't leave any press conferences for four months after that time.


 By the time he remembers that, Lex will have fallen forward to brace his
hands on either side of Clark's head. His only movement will be the pull
of his hips back and the thrust of them forward in a hard roll that Clark
will answer with short, jabbing motions. The friction always feels like
combustion, like those times back in Smallville when he was set on fire or
he was in something that exploded. Euphoria mixed with the knowledge that
this is the end and no one can save him. Not even some disjointed boy in
flannel. 

 Clark always did though and today, that boy is no longer disjointed and
he never wears flannel. Not around Lex anyway. He doesn't save Lex from
the inferno either. Instead he comes, squeezing around Lex until Lex
follows him over the edge, falling against Clark's back. 

 Here, Lex floats. Here is where he cried that one time while he stared
down at Clark's hand and wanted nothing more than to rewrite their pasts
for a different future. Here is where he let his ache known to the world,
when Lex has only ever defined the world as Clark. 

 It's a private ache that never shows. Just shines in the reflection of a
platinum band.	 
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